


Running Through The Trees (The Only Way To Bring You Back To Me)

by ThisIsOnYouPrincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, In The Woods, they're being chased
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:35:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3538178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsOnYouPrincess/pseuds/ThisIsOnYouPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We need to do something about our breathing.” He mumbles - maybe to her, maybe to himself - “They’ll find us in no time if we keep doing this.” He thinks for a moment, watching Clarke carefully, intensely through hooded lids. </p>
<p>“Don’t slap me.” He murmurs quietly to her, and she looks up instantly. </p>
<p>“What?” She asks in an undertone, confused eyes quizzing him silently. </p>
<p>“Promise you won’t slap me. It’s the only way we’ll live.” His eyes remain serious, but she can see the slightest glint of amusement underneath his severity. “Clarke. Promise you won’t slap me.” </p>
<p>“I won’t slap you.” She mumbles, hoping she can live up to her words. </p>
<p>Set a few months after 2x16<br/>(Sorry for the complex, long title I couldn't think)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running Through The Trees (The Only Way To Bring You Back To Me)

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write something after 2x16 I'm sorry.   
> It had to happen

They’re running in the woods, Bellamy’s grip tight on Clarke’s wrist, keeping her up with him (what with his legs being substantially longer and all). They don’t know who they’re being chased by, or why. (Clarke would bet it’s Emerson, but she doesn’t have proof and doesn’t know how he’d be alive alone if it was him). Maybe it’s grounders (that treaty did fall apart, after all). 

The point is, they’re being chased. They’re being chased and whoever is chasing them is running faster than she thought possible. And Bellamy must be reading her mind, because just as she’s giving up he pulls her into a cubby just deep enough for both of them. He squashes in first then pulls her against his chest, both of them breathing ragged, as if they’ve never tasted air before. She leans her forehead against his chest in a familiar way and his hand falls around her shoulder. 

She starts to whisper something but it’s rendered unintelligible by the fabric of Bellamy’s shirt as he shushes her to silence. 

“We need to do something about our breathing.” He mumbles - maybe to her, maybe to himself - “They’ll find us in no time if we keep doing this.” He thinks for a moment, watching Clarke carefully, intensely through hooded lids. 

“Don’t slap me.” He murmurs quietly to her, and she looks up instantly. 

“What?” She asks in an undertone, confused eyes quizzing him silently. 

“Promise you won’t slap me. It’s the only way we’ll live.” His eyes remain serious, but she can see the slightest glint of amusement underneath his severity. “Clarke. Promise you won’t slap me.” 

“I won’t slap you.” She mumbles, hoping she can live up to her words. 

And then his lips are on hers. She lets out a strangled squeak but he shakes his head against her and she’s scared she’ll lose contact so she stops, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling his mouth to hers more forcefully. His arms coil around her shoulders, dropping down to her waist and backing her against the wall (if she could be backed up anymore), leaving nothing but clothes beneath their bodies. They remain like this - entwined in every way possible - for what seems like ages, with the Grounder-Mountain Man (whatever the hell it is) wandering around the opening in the trees, never seeing the figures hidden behind. 

Finally, the enemy leaves and Bellamy hears but doesn’t retreat, knowing already that he’ll miss the feel of Clarke’s lips moving against his. 

What he doesn’t know is that Clarke hears too, she’s got good ears and a keen sense of movement. She knows they’re gone. And yet she doesn’t move either, she just leaves her arms around his shoulders and her mouth on his, hot and wet and everything she’d never wanted a kiss to be. 

“Princess,” he mumbles, long after his lips have gone numb and his arms have gone dead. “Uh, Clarke. We need to go.” She retreats, now, pushing him away from her firmly by the shoulders, eyes sparkling but mouth pressed into a tight (plumper than usual, more swollen) line. 

“Yeah,” her hand lifts, as if a last-ditch attempt to save face, but Bellamy catches her wrist before it can find anywhere near his face.

“Uh-uh, you promised.” He smirks, placing the hand back to her side, disentangling himself from her and sliding out of the hiding place he’d made for them. She follows swiftly, eyes averted, looking everywhere but him. 

“So… Nice weather we’re having.” He comments with a chuckle. She rolls her eyes and walks faster. She hopes he thinks she’s looking for danger - he can see right through her. His arm finds her shoulders - familiar, he’s done this a million times in the past few weeks, trying to bring her home - and she shoves him away, playfully. A smirk plays on his lips as he moves all of a step away from her and he laughs at her disgruntled expression.

“Y’know, Clarke, if you come home with me, this’ll all stop.” 

“Watch it, Bellamy. That sounds dangerously like sexual harassment.” She mutters lowly. He laughs once more, his expression lighting up with the action. 

“Camp’s no fun without you.” He pouts. She shakes her head. 

“Oh I doubt that. Camp was lots of fun, as I recall.” Her eyes slide over his and he rolls his own. 

“Come on, Clarke. Your mom misses you. The kids miss you.” 

“Jasper doesn’t, I bet.”

“Of course he does… He just hasn’t admitted it yet.” The last part is quiet, subdued. Jasper still won’t even talk to Monty, so Bellamy hasn’t got a chance. 

“I killed the girl he was in love with, Bellamy. Of course he hates me.” 

“That’s not true.” He mumbles. _“We_ killed her, Clarke. It wasn’t just you. You haven’t done any of this on your own. And if I’m facing up to it, why can’t you? I’ve done the same things as you, Clarke Griffin, but I get up each morning, and I look at those kids faces. They love me, they don’t care what I’ve done to get here - just that I’m here for them, always. They love _you._ As long as you’re there, they won’t care why, or how.” Clarke shakes her head. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.” He snarks semi-playfully, rolling his eyes. 

“As are you.” She sends him a wry smile and he shakes his head. “Maybe one day, Bellamy. Maybe one day I can come back and we’ll be okay. But now? No. I’m not ready. I want to get far away from here.”

“And miss our weekly conferences? Are you joking, Princess? You couldn’t live without me.” _He doesn’t know the truth in that statement,_ she thinks. _He doesn’t know that I’m ridiculously dependent on him now that he’s the only constant in my life._

 

Hours later, Bellamy’s arms wind tightly around Clarke’s torso as he hugs her goodbye for what feels like the last time - _every_ time feels like the last time. Even with having guards checking up on her every so often, Bellamy never quite feels safe with Clarke out there - with the grounder clan or not, he doesn’t care. He knows she’s learning more about the grounders and about where they came from, medical techniques and the likes. 

It doesn’t mean he has to like it. Which is why he sets up these conferences, once a week with her. They’ll talk before she leaves and then they know where to meet. They always find each other. 

“Bellamy?” Clarke asks into his shoulder. 

“Yeah?” 

“Have you given up yet? Searching for me?” He doesn’t tell her that he’s already found her. _No,_ He wants to tell her, _I don’t want to give up on you, ever. I want you here by my side, every hour of every day._

“Yes.” He says instead, because it might hurt him a hell of a lot to tell her that he’s given up on his one salvation, but he knows it makes her feel better, it makes her feel like she’s free and he’s not worrying 24/7 even though he is. 

“May we meet again.” She pulls back, kissing his cheek once, chastely, like she does every time. He smiles at her, his mind still roaming the moments, hours before. The adrenaline coursing through his veins as he finally touched her the way he had wanted to for a while. Her hands in his hair and his wrapped in the soft fabric of her shirt. The thought of her lips against his, the scent of her hair, so close to him, hot skin under his touch. How he saw it, he saw the attraction in her eyes as he pulled away, raw and burning and _his._

_“May we meet again.”_ They will, and they do. 

They always do. 


End file.
